


Comes the Fall

by misslucy21



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslucy21/pseuds/misslucy21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The months between coming back from Romania and September were some of the longest months ever. G, Sam and the meltdown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this story at least, I'm ignoring the existence of Sam's marriage because I started writing it well before we knew about his wife and the story just didn't work with that information. Call it an AU, if you please.

Sam frowned as he watched G zone out for the fifth time that morning. He only did that when he was really, really tired and at the end of his rope and usually only somewhere he felt safe. And right now, Sam wasn't convinced that G felt entirely safe in Ops. Hunter being in charge was not sitting well with either of them, and Sam knew G didn't trust her at all. Sam wasn't sure Hunter trusted G, exactly, either, so the tension was entirely mutual.

It had been a very tense week since they'd returned from Romania. Sam was pretty sure G hadn't relaxed a fraction until they'd found out that Hetty had been transported to Bethesda, where she'd finish recovering until she could be released home to recuperate in LA. He was putting up a good front, now, but Sam knew how to read between the lines, even if no one else currently in the office could.

"Hey, let's go get some lunch," he said, standing up and getting G's attention.

"Ok," G said, shrugging.

When they got in the car, G leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. "Tired?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," G admitted.

"You been sleeping?" Sam hadn't stayed over with G since they'd gotten home. G hadn't been leaving Ops at anything resembling a reasonable time and that usually meant he had paperwork and stuff to do that he preferred to do when no one was around. Sam usually went home in that case.

"No," G sighed, which was an alarm bell for Sam. If G was too tired to give even a token protest, then something was really, really wrong.

"Nightmares? Or just insomnia?" Sam asked.

"Don't know," G said. Sam raised an eyebrow at that and G sighed. "I sort of might be losing time."

"Sort of, might be?" Sam asked. G shrugged. "That's not a good thing."

"I know," G sighed. "Just at home. Not at work," he added, as though that would make it better.

"Still," Sam said. "You still having flashbacks?" G didn't answer for a long moment. "G?" he prompted.

"Yeah," G admitted. "Not at work."

"I don't care whether they're happening at home or at work," Sam said. "I care that they're happening at all."

"I can still work, though," G said.

"I'm not saying you can't," Sam replied. "I'm saying that's not a good thing."

"I know," G admitted.

"Still the beach?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," G said. "Still the beach. I don't even know if it's real."

"Are they getting worse?" Sam asked.

"Maybe," G said. "I don't know."

"Ok," Sam said. "I'm coming home with you tonight."

"You don't have to," G protested weakly.

"Yeah, I think I do," Sam said. "What's my primary responsibility here?"

"You're a Special Agent with the Office of Special Projects for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service," G said, clearly irritated with the question.

Sam rolled his eyes. "My primary responsibility is to _have your back_. Which means I'm staying with you tonight because you need me to."

"Ok," G said, quietly.

"We'll figure it out, G. You don't have to deal with it by yourself, ok?" Sam said.

"I don't think I want to deal with it at all," G said.

"Yeah, I get that," Sam said. "But if you don't, then it's not going to get better." G slumped down in the seat and didn't say anything. "Why don't you close your eyes for awhile?" Sam suggested, when it became clear that G wasn't going to respond.

"Yeah, ok," G sighed.

Sam figured he could drive around for at least another half hour, then run through a drive through on the way back to Ops. That would give G a nap, at least. Then they'd get through the rest of the day and go tackle the bigger problems.

:::  
The bigger problems turned out to be even larger than Sam had thought. G was not only having flashbacks, he was also definitely dissociating after the flashbacks. All of which made him really anxious, and Sam had circumvented more than one panic attack. When he was at work, he was fine- tense, but together and not having anxiety issues beyond his usual tendency to be jumpy. For once, Sam was a little glad of G's crazy compartmentalization abilities, because there would be no other way to keep this not-so-little issue under wraps like G wanted. He didn't trust Hunter and he only barely trusted Vance, and so he was completely unwilling to even consider taking vacation time, let alone getting official help.

But when he wasn't at work, it was like all of his usual coping mechanisms had completely evaporated. Sam had thought the meltdown last summer had been bad, with G's recurring nightmare of being watched at his sister's grave and incurable restlessness. That had been nothing, barely a blip on the radar, compared to what was happening now. The main difference was, Sam thought, was that last summer, he'd still been dealing with his partner. Now, he was actually dealing with a terrified little kid who'd just seen his mother murdered, who happened to be wearing his partner's face. G insisted he wasn't sure that what he was seeing in the flashbacks was even real, but Sam was starting to be convinced that it was. It really didn't matter; part of G clearly believed it to be real and that part was clearly in charge.

It was late and they were both tired. But G couldn't stay asleep, so they were up again. Sam had tried every trick in his book- a long run, a hot shower, the really good relaxing tea, a boring movie with no discernible plot- everything short of sex (because G was putting out very clear Not In The Mood vibes and Sam respected that above all else). None of it had worked. Sam had given up trying to reassure him about two hours ago, when it became clear that it was just frustrating G to be reminded that he was safe.

Sam sighed and said, "Let's try something else, because this is really not working."

"What?" G asked, wearily.

"Walk me through the flashback," Sam said.

"Huh?" G said.

"What are you seeing?" Sam asked "When you're on the beach, what do you see?"

"I told you this already," G said.

"You told me what happened. You didn't tell me what you were actually seeing," Sam corrected. "So, next time, when you start seeing things, tell me what you're seeing."

"Ok," G capitulated. He was quiet for a minute, then said. "It's the beach we were on. In Romania."

"How do you know that?" Sam prodded.

"The signs are the same," G said. He sounded far away, but when Sam went to nudge him, he kept talking. "There's people playing soccer."

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"Building a sand castle," G replied.

"What are you wearing? Swim trunks?" Sam asked, trying to get G to give him details.

"Yeah. And a shirt. It's warm, but kind of windy," G said.

"How old are you?" Sam asked, hoping to get some sense of the timeline of the whole thing.

"I don't know. Little," G said.

"Little, like a toddler?" Sam asked. "Like you're two or three?"

"No. Bigger than that." G said. "I don't know."

"Ok." Sam propped himself up on one elbow to look at G. He was staring towards the ceiling, but his eyes were completely unfocused. "Tell me something else," he directed.

"The waves are kind of big. No one's really swimming," G said. "I see my mom."

"Yeah? What's she look like?" Sam asked.

"Dark hair. Sunglasses," G said. "Pretty."

"Is she watching you build the sand castle?" Sam asked, trying to keep it simple. G's answers were sounding more like a child's than someone trained to notice details.

"Yeah," G said. "She's smiling."

"I bet she is," Sam said, softly. "What else do you see?"

"There's the man," G frowned a little.

"What's he look like?" Sam prodded, when G didn't continue.

"Um, tall. He has nice clothes. He gave me the soldier," G said. His arms came up and he grabbed at his elbows.

"Did he say anything to you?" Sam asked.

"I don't think so, no," G said, shaking his head. "I don't hear anything."

"That's ok," Sam reassured him. "Just tell me what you see now."

"He's walking towards my mom. He's got a gun, it's got a silencer. He shoots her." G fell silent.

"What's happening now?" Sam asked. G didn't answer. "Hey, G," he said, realizing that G had slipped over into the dissociation. "Come on back."

It took a minute, and some more prodding, but G eventually blinked and said, "What?"

"You with me?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," G sighed. "I did it again, huh?"

"It's not your fault," Sam said.

"Yeah." G scrubbed his hand over his face.

"Does it end when your mom gets shot?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. I don't know what happens after that. I've been trying to remember anything, but I can't," G said, sounding frustrated. "I'm really tired of this."

"I know you are," Sam said. He watched as G curled up on his side, facing away from Sam and towards the door. "Want to try closing your eyes for a little while again? See if that worked a little?"

"Ok," G agreed.

Sam held his breath as G started to relax. When fifteen minutes had gone by and G was still asleep, he relaxed and fell asleep himself.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a short lived improvement. Two weeks later, things were just as bad as they had been and they were both exhausted.

"I can't do this anymore," G whispered. It had been another very long night and it was getting close to dawn without either of them having slept more than a hour or so.

"I know," Sam said, equally softly. He wrapped himself around G and let him hold on, trying to give him as much safety as possible. He rocked G back and forth gently, trying to think.

"I know you're trying," Sam said, after a long time. "But I don't think this is good for you. And I don't think I know how to help you right." G's entire body tensed at that. "I ain't going anywhere, G. Not leaving you. I have your back," Sam said firmly, and G relaxed a fraction. "But this isn't working and we need to try something else. I really think we need to get you some help. You're so tired, G." He smoothed his hand down the back of G's head. "You're so tired. And this isn't going away."

"I don't know what to do," G said, finally.

"I don't either," Sam admitted. "But I think we should find someone who does."

"No hospital," G said, jerking back to look up at Sam.

"No, I'm not taking you to the hospital," Sam said, shaking his head. He had mentioned it as a possibility the other night when G was so wound up he couldn't even stand still, let alone sit down. It had just panicked G further and it had taken all of Sam's fast talking skills to keep G from walking out of the house and going God-knows-where. G put his head down against Sam's shoulder again. "But I was thinking Nate."

G was quiet. Sam could hear him thinking about that idea. G did not like people poking around in his head, and Nate didn't seem to have much finesse about it, but Sam knew that G would probably be more comfortable with talking with someone who already knew most of the situation. And, in a weird way, he had a feeling that G trusted Nate, at least a little, in part *because* Nate was a little clumsy. "I don't want to talk about this."

"But?" Sam said, hearing the pause in G's voice.

"It would be ok if you did," G said, finally. "I just...can't."

"Ok," Sam said. "That's fine. I can do it." Sam had been translating G for other people for years. This wouldn't be any different.

:::

A hour or so of discreet searching the next morning, and Sam had a number for Nate. He send a text message saying he needed to talk. About twenty minutes later, he got one in return, saying that Nate could be on Skype in an hour if that would work. Sam agreed and slipped out of Ops with his laptop. He drove to G's house, where Eric had set up a secure connection for G in an effort to humor G's paranoia. He let himself in, sat down and jacked the laptop into the internet connection and ran the VPN to be extra safe (sometimes G wasn't the only paranoid one) before logging into Skype.

Nate pinged him after about five minutes. "Sam. Hey. I heard about Hetty, how's she doing?"

"She's all right. Still in DC, but should be back here in a week or two, although it's probably another month or so before she's back at work," Sam replied.

"Good," Nate said. "You doing all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said, nodding.

"But Callen isn't," Nate said.

"No," Sam sighed. "He's really not."

Nate held up a hand. "Does he know you're talking to me?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I know he should be doing this, but he really can't do it and he's too stressed."

"That's ok," Nate said. "So long as he's given his permission, I don't mind doing it this way for right now."

"Thanks," Sam said.

"So, what's going on?" Nate asked.

Sam took a deep breath. "You said you heard about Hetty, did you hear how she got shot?"

"Not much," Nate said. "Just that she was overseas and got caught in the crossfire."

"More or less," Sam said. "Ok, I can't go into detail here, but let's just say that the op sort of triggered some memories for G."

"Foster care experiences?" Nate asked.

"No, before," Sam said. Nate blinked in surprise. "He's still insisting he's not sure he's not imagining it, but G apparently witnessed his mother being murdered."

"Oh, holy…" Nate trailed off. "Wow."

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Wow," Nate repeated. "Well, that might explain a few things. How old was he?"

"Not sure," Sam said. "He just says he was little. I'm guessing maybe four or a little younger, given what he told me."

"Flashbacks?" Nate asked.

"Yeah. Pretty bad," Sam said.

"And he's still working?" Nate asked, sounding slightly alarmed.

"He's fine when he's at work. Nervy, a little, but that's easy to put down to the fact that he doesn't like the person filling in for Hetty. And he's got good reason not to trust her; it's not just G being paranoid," Sam added. "I don't trust her either."

Nate shook his head. "I wish he wouldn't compartmentalize like that, but I understand it. I take it off duty is a different story?"

"Off duty, nothing he usually does when he's stressed and upset is working at all. I swear he's like a terrified little kid who just lost his mom," Sam said.

"He is," Nate said. "If he's suppressed that memory for this long- and I believe he did, because I'm pretty sure he wasn't lying to me when he said he didn't remember his parents at all- then he never dealt with that grief and that trauma. He's going to have to deal with that, to process it."

"I don't think we're doing a very good job of it," Sam admitted.

Nate shrugged. "You're probably doing better than you think you are if he's still functioning on the job. Callen has amazing, if totally unhealthy, coping mechanisms, but they'll still only take him so far." He paused. "Tell me exactly what's happening."

"He's having flashbacks and nightmares. He loses time for a little while after the flashbacks. He's not sleeping, even for G. He's exhausted and scared," Sam said. "A lot of anxiety. He's hyper sometimes, too, can't stay still."

Nate nodded slowly. "Self-harm?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Sam said. "And I've been around more often than not."

"Is he staying in one place?" Nate asked.

"As much as usual. He's staying at his house about 4 or 5 nights a week," Sam replied. "Most of the rest of the time he's been at the boathouse." He'd been pushing them to stay at G's house as much as possible because he wanted to reinforce the idea that G had a home now, but they'd spent a couple of nights a week at his place, too, although he wasn't going to tell Nate that.

"That's probably as good as it's ever going to get," Nate admitted. "I'm glad he feels safe at home."

"Most of the time," Sam agreed.

Nate nodded again. He sat back from the screen and appeared to be thinking. Sam let him think. "Ok," Nate said, finally. "Leveling with you, I'm sure it's not going to surprise you that the ideal thing for Callen right now would be some time somewhere quiet and non-stressful where he could be monitored while we got him on some medication and started some heavy-duty therapy." He held up a hand as Sam started to shake his head. "Yeah, I know. That's not going to happen. I'm just telling you how I'd normally treat this kind of problem."

"Not a normal situation," Sam pointed out.

"I know," Nate said, again. "That being said, right now, let's just try to get through the crisis. You said the anxiety was really bad?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"Ok," Nate said. "I can't prescribe, but I can get ahold of people who can do that discreetly. I'll see if I can get him some diazepam or something. But, I want you to know, sometimes doctors don't like prescribing that kind of medication for people with acute PTSD because they tend have a higher rate of addiction and self medication. And because unlike anti-depressants, there's the ability to use them to commit suicide. You can take a whole bottle of Prozac and it won't kill you. A whole bottle of diazepam will."

"If G wanted to kill himself, he doesn't need the pills to do it," Sam pointed out.

"I know," Nate said. "And you said he wasn't trying to hurt himself. Also, I'm not sure that Callen's even capable of relinquishing control long enough to get drunk or high enough to dull the pain, so I'm not as worried about addiction in his case. I'm going to suggest that maybe you should hold on to the medication, though, just in case."

"I can do that," Sam said.

"Ok," Nate said. "Another thing is that anti-anxiety medication may not really help the flashbacks themselves. They may not go away. It will help him deal with them better, but I wouldn't count on them disappearing. Anti-depressants would be better for that, but that would require monitoring and dealing with a doctor for an extended period of time and I know Callen's not likely to go for that."

"Probably not," Sam agreed. "At least not right now."

"Once he's a little calmer, if you think you can float the idea about seeing someone for some better treatment, you should. I can recommend people outside of NCIS- I'm assuming this is all off the record?" Nate asked.

"Yes," Sam said. "Off the record."

"I figured," Nate said. "I can get him help if he wants it. I'm happy to talk to him, too, if he wants. Otherwise, I'm going to trust your judgment about whether he should be working or what he needs."

"All right," Sam said.

"I'll send you a message when I know if I can get something called in for him. In the meanwhile, you might try a couple of Benedryl. It might at least knock him out for awhile, anyway," Nate suggested.

"I'll keep it in mind," Sam said.

"Good," Nate said. "And you take care of yourself too. I'd say you should tell everyone I say hello, but that's probably not a good idea if you're under the radar."

Sam smiled. "I'll just say you got ahold of me to ask about Hetty."

"Ok," Nate smiled back. "I do miss you guys."

"You're doing important work there," Sam said.

"Yes, I know," Nate said. "Anyway, I'll shoot you a message when I know something."

"Thanks, Nate," Sam said.

"Good luck," Nate replied. "Text me whenever if you have more questions or need more help."

"I will," Sam promised. "Later."

"Bye," Nate said, signing off.

About two hours later, Sam got a text that read _Walgreens, Santa Monica on Wilshire, near St. Johns. Ready by 5. Michael Garrett. No refills. If need more, she wants to see him_.

 _Great, thx_ , he texted back.

At five, Sam looked at G and said, "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"Fine with me," G said, looking embattled. He'd been arguing all afternoon with Hunter about something. Sam was fairly sure it was the laptop that Hunter had retrieved from the Comescu's compound, but G wasn't interested in discussing it. They gathered their things and went out to Sam's car. G fell asleep within ten minutes of driving, which Sam had anticipated. The past few weeks, they'd been going "out to lunch" most days- meaning that Sam drove around for 40 minutes so G could nap, then went through a drive through on the way back to work. Sam was pretty sure it was being read as some kind of passive aggressive dig at Hunter, but he didn't really care. They hadn't gone out today, because Sam had slipped out to talk with Nate. Santa Monica wasn't all that close by, so it would do.

G slept through the drive to the pharmacy, through Sam picking up the prescription and through the drive back to his house. He didn't wake up until Sam got out of the car to meet the pizza delivery guy to get the pizza he'd ordered. Sam turned around after paying the delivery guy to find G standing by the car, frowning.

"Dinner," Sam said.

"Got that," G said. "Did you just leave me in the car?"

"No," Sam said. "We just got here."

G frowned at his watch. "Ok," he said, slowly.

"Come on, let's go eat," Sam said, waving towards the house.

They went inside and settled down on the floor to eat the pizza. "I talked to Nate today," Sam said after he'd finished his first slice.

"I figured that, when you slipped out," G nodded.

"He got a friend to prescribe something for you. Valium," Sam said, nodding at the plastic bag sitting on top of his gym bag.

"Ah," G said. He didn't look like he was sure how he felt about that.

"Nate said it might not help with the flashbacks themselves, but it'd help calm you down," Sam explained. "He also suggested I hang on to the pills."

G nodded. "Because I could overdose on them."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"I don't want to do that," G said.

"I'm really glad to hear it," Sam said. "I'll give you the bottle if you want me to, I'm just telling you what Nate said."

G picked up one of Sam's discarded crusts and chewed on it for a minute. "No," he said finally. "You keep it."

"Ok," Sam agreed. "I'll leave you a couple, in case I'm not around. Like this weekend." Sam was supposed to go to the Sudan on an op this weekend. He didn't really want to leave G alone, and he couldn't tell G where he was going, but he didn't have much of a choice.

"Fishing, right," G said.

"I'd bring you along…" Sam started, knowing what G's answer would be.

"No," G interrupted, firmly. "No, that's ok."

Sam smiled. G was not a fan of boats and he didn't really see the point of fishing. "I'm going to be out of cell range," he said.

"I know. It's fine," G said. "I'm a big boy."

"I know you are," Sam said, finishing the last slice of pizza. He handed G the crust. "How're you feeling tonight?"

G shrugged. "It's there. I can feel it, but it's not _here_ yet."

Sam nodded. "Well, let's see if we can keep it that way tonight, huh? You need a break." He went over and pulled the bottle of pills out of the bag. "Ok, there's 30 pills and no refills," he said studying the label. "Nate said if you needed more, then his friend wants to see you."

"So, I have a month to get my head together," G said.

"You have as long as it takes to get your head together," Sam corrected. "We can cross the refill bridge when we get to it." He shook out a pill and handed it over to G, who took it and chased it down with some soda. "Movie?" he asked.

"Sure," G said, getting up off the floor and taking the pizza box to the kitchen. Sam dug his laptop out of his bag and went into the other room and settled on the bed. He sat the laptop where they could both see it and started scrolling through the movie selections as G came and sat next to him. "You got Die Hard on there?" G asked.

"I think so," Sam said. "Yeah," he said, cueing it up.

They watched quietly, but Sam noticed that about half an hour into the movie, G started to relax. His shoulders weren't hunched up as far by his ears and his eyelids were starting to droop. His head was tilted towards one shoulder. Fifteen minutes later, he was fast asleep, looking more relaxed than he had in the past two months. Sam smiled and dared to hope they'd reached a turning point.


	3. Chapter 3

The medication had helped quite a bit. G had needed a pill every night for the first week, but after that, the flashbacks seemed to taper off and that had helped things settle down. Sam thought, in an armchair psychology type of way, that relieving some of the anxiety had left the flashbacks with less to feed off of, and so they'd gone away. While he was still very suspicious of Hunter, G was also considerably calmer at work, too. Hetty being fully on the mend probably also helped, although no one knew when she'd be back. At any rate, G didn't need (or want, really) company every night anymore, which was fine with Sam, who had needed to catch up on his own sleep and put in work on the op that was sending him to the Sudan every couple of weeks. Which was why Sam was at home asleep at 2:07 am when his cell phone rang one evening in September.

"Hanna", Sam muttered, picking up the phone.

"Sam?" G's voice sounded extremely shaky.

"G? What's wrong?" Sam said, getting out of bed and grabbing his jeans.

"She knew my mom. She knew what happened to her," G said.

"G, you're not making sense," Sam said, shoving his feet into his shoes and grabbing his wallet and keys.

"I don't…" G trailed off.

"Where are you?" Sam asked, when G didn't say more.

"House," G said, still sounding dazed.

"Are you hurt?" Sam asked as he stepped out of the house.

"No…" G said.

"Ok, I'm coming to you, ok?" Sam said, getting in the car. "Don't go anywhere. Stay put, you hear me?"

"Yeah," G said.

"Let me hear it," Sam said. "What'd I tell you to do?"

"Stay put," G replied.

"Good. I'm in the car. I will be there as soon as I can, ok? Hang tight," Sam said.

"Ok," G said. The next thing Sam heard was the beep that told him G had hung up. He swore under his breath and gunned the accelerator. G's house wasn't terribly far from his house and the traffic was fairly light.

The lights were out when Sam arrived, but G's car was in the driveway. Sam unlocked the door and let himself in cautiously, hoping that G wasn't feeling extra hyper-vigilant tonight. "Hey," he said, seeing G standing in the middle of his darkened living room. "Something wrong with the light?"

"What?" G said, frowning at him.

"Why are you standing in the dark?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," G admitted. He still sounded really shaky.

"I'm gonna turn the lamp on, ok?" Sam asked. G nodded, so he flipped the switch. G was pale and shaky as he squinted at the light. "Come on, let's sit down, huh?" he said.

"Ok," G said. He let Sam steer him toward the chair. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," Sam said. He crouched down in front of G and picked up one of his hands to check his pulse. He noticed the marks on G's hands from his boxing gloves. "How many rounds did you go with the heavy bag?" he asked.

"Don't know," G said.

"Did you eat anything tonight?" Sam asked. Ordinarily, that wasn't a concern- G never forgot to eat. But today was clearly not an ordinary day, and G certainly looked like someone with low blood sugar.

G looked like he was trying to remember. "I don't know," he admitted.

Sam sighed. "Sit there," he said. He got up to investigate G's kitchen, hoping there was something reasonable in it. It wasn't like G cooked. Thankfully, there was Gatorade in the fridge and a couple packets of saltines leftover from takeout in the cupboard. "Drink" he said, opening the bottle of Gatorade and handing it to G. "Slowly. You don't need to be puking tonight." He sat down on the floor in front of the chair and unlaced G's shoes and pulled them off.

G sipped the Gatorade slowly. Sam watched him closely and was relieved when G started looking a little less vague and a little more focused as he drank. "Here," Sam said after a couple of minutes as he handed G a packet of crackers. G ate them without protesting. "Good. Feel better?" he asked, reaching up to rub G's knee.

"Little," G admitted.

"Good," Sam said. "What's up?"

"She knew my mom and never told me," G said, softly in a wounded sounding voice.

"Ok, back up," Sam said. "Who's she?"

"Hetty," G said.

"You went to talk with Hetty?" Sam asked.

"No. She's back. Hunter's gone," G said.

"Wait," Sam said. "Let's start at the beginning. You were still at Ops when I left, right?"

"Yeah," G said.

"But Hunter left?" Sam asked.

"The girlfriend we chased after all day. She was setting up a cover," G said.

Sam shook his head. That didn't make much sense, either, but he was going to set that one aside for now. "Ok. So, you were at Ops and Hetty came in?"

G nodded. "Yeah."

"And she told you she knew your mom," Sam said.

"Yeah," G nodded.

"How?" Sam asked, tamping back a flare of anger. This was not the time.

"My mom was in the CIA," G replied.

Sam blinked. "Huh."

"Yeah," G said. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "She went off the grid. Was trying to get back. Hetty got the order to abort right before the meet."

"Hetty was meeting your mom on the beach," Sam surmised.

"Yeah," G agreed.

"And you were with your mom." Sam said. G just nodded. "Well, at least you know it was real."

G gave a tired sounding laugh. "Yeah." He was quiet for a moment. "I don't wanna think anymore," he said, giving Sam a desperate look.

"Ok, buddy, ok," Sam said, kneeling up and gathering G close to his shoulder. He glanced at his watch. It was much too late at night to give G anything if he wanted to be functional in the morning. "You want to be at work in the morning?" he asked, just in case.

G nodded against his shoulder. "I have to. Even if nothing comes up, Hetty's going to have a lot to catch up on and a lot of it is stuff she's going to need me for."

"Ok," Sam said, gently working at the knots in G's neck. He rubbed soothing circles against the tight muscles as he thought for a minute. Sex was off the menu tonight- he wasn't in the mood after this, and he knew G sure as hell wasn't. So he was going to have to do this the hard way. He moved his hand down further until he came to the knot in G's back that would not release, no matter how much work was done on it. Sam usually avoided it, because he knew it hurt like hell, but tonight that's what he was looking for. He dug two knuckles into the center of the knot and held them there.

"Breathe, G. Don't pass out on me," Sam warned after a few moments when he realized G was holding his breath. G gasped out a sobbing breath, and Sam held the pressure for another 10 count and then released it. "You with me?" he asked as G panted against his shoulder.

"Yeah," G said, breathlessly.

"Good," Sam said, going back to rubbing G's neck. He gave it a minute, then eased G back so he could see his face. His eyes were slightly unfocused, but he didn't have the same look of desperation that he'd had a few minutes ago. "That slow things down for you?"

"Little bit," G said.

"Enough that you can lie down at least?" Sam asked. G nodded. "Ok, then, let's go do that." He rocked back to his feet and tugged G upright. Most nights, he knew, G still preferred to sleep in his bedroll. But he'd convinced G to actually buy a bed for the nights Sam was over, even if G wouldn't sleep in it full time. He steered G to the larger bedroom with the bed and nudged him towards the bed. "You want me to see what I can do about the rest of those knots?" Sam asked as G lay down.

"Not really," G said.

"Ok," Sam said. "What're you reading this week?" G was the biggest supporter of the LA public library that Sam had ever met. He was mostly self-educated, and he'd kept the reading habit because it was useful in building covers.

"'s in the other room," G mumbled, rubbing his forehead.

"Ok," Sam said. "Be right back." He went into the living room and found the book sitting by the chair. He went and got a glass of water and the bottle of aspirin from the kitchen before going back to the bedroom. "Moneyball?" he asked, dropping the book on the bed and handing the water to G, who struggled to sit up. "You gonna build a cover as a sabremetrics guy?"

"No," G said, accepting the aspirin that Sam held out. "Can't fake the math. But it's interesting."

"Ah," Sam said. "That's too bad. I could see you as a minor league scout or something." G snorted at that as he set the water down on the floor and laid back down. Sam sat against the headboard and let G get himself settled before he opened the book and started reading aloud. He'd discovered over this summer that G had (unsurprisingly) rarely been read to as a kid, but that he'd really liked it when it had happened. Since Sam had been casting around for something- anything- to help G calm down, discovering that G found being read to soothing had been something of a life saver.

He read until he saw that G had nodded off. He'd been hoping that G was worn out enough from his bout with the heavy bag that he'd fall asleep if Sam could get him relaxed enough. With any luck, he'd sleep for awhile. Sam scooted down to stretch out and grab another hour or two of sleep himself. He had a conversation to have with a certain Operations Manager in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you done with G?" Sam demanded as he marched into Hetty's office. It was early in the morning and no one was around, which was what he intended when he'd learned last night that Hetty was back.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hanna?" Hetty asked.

"Are you done fucking with him," Sam asked, bluntly.

Hetty didn't seem fazed by his language. "If you mean have I told him everything I know, then yes, I am."

"Good," Sam said, angrily. "Because if you weren't, you were going to be. You knew? You knew about his family and you didn't tell him? Did you know what happened to him? Thirty-seven foster homes, Hetty. _Thirty-seven_. Do you have any idea what happened to him in some of those places? I don't even know half of it because he won't- or can't- talk about it. And what I do know makes me not _want_ to know the rest. He doesn't know his name. He doesn't even know how old he is for sure or when his birthday actually is. Everything he knows about himself is a guess at best. No more. Whatever anyone knows about him, they need to tell him, now, or they're gonna answer to _me_."

Hetty sighed. "He knows everything I know and everything I have been able to find out now. I assure you." She paused. "How is he?"

"He's hurting more than I've ever seen him hurt," Sam said, deflating a little. "You don't know, Hetty. You just don't know. You didn't see him in Romania; I've never seen him look lost before. And you weren't here when we got back. You weren't the one who sat up with him all night because the flashbacks wouldn't let him close his eyes for more than ten minutes at a time. You weren't here while Hunter was playing her fucking power games all summer. You know she tried to split us up? While he was still reeling from all this? Her only saving grace is she put him with Kensi, who doesn't _know_ , but she knows," Sam said. "Hunter jerked him around all summer with that damn laptop. If she'd just said that it didn't have anything to do with him, then he would have been fine, but she just kept stringing him along."

"I am aware that he does not trust her," Hetty said. "She did not trust him, either."

"Yeah, that was obvious. But it was a bad, bad summer. I almost took him to the emergency room one night because he was wound so tight. I wasn't sure what he was going to do. It was that bad. I even tracked Nate down," Sam sighed.

"Did you contact him?" Hetty asked.

"Only just to make sure I wasn't making things worse," Sam said. "He said he would trust my judgment."

"Good," Hetty said. "And in your judgment, should Mr. Callen be out there?"

Sam sighed again, and closed his eyes. "Right now, he's functional. With Hunter gone- she is gone, right?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"Yes, she is," Hetty assured him.

"Good," Sam said, with feeling. "With Hunter gone and things getting back to normal, he'll be ok. So long as there's nothing else that he's gonna get ambushed with. He really cannot take anything else right now. He's at the end of his rope and it wouldn't take much to push him over."

Hetty nodded. "I see. It is good then, that I do not have any requests for his particular expertise."

Sam shook his head. "He goes under now, getting him out might be hard. He's hung in there pretty well; he hasn't been running away. But give him the opportunity and he might think it's worth taking."

"I understand," Hetty said. "I do regret this entire situation. If I could have given him the information I had earlier, I would have. Mr. Callen's best interests have always been my main objective. But it was too dangerous."

"G handles danger pretty well," Sam said, pointedly.

"There were too many variables that I was not fully cognizant of," Hetty said. "Not until I was there, in Romania."

Sam nodded. He knew sometimes things were like that. "Ok," he said.

"I do hope I will be able to regain your good opinion," Hetty said.

Sam heard it for the apology it was. "Yeah. We'll be ok."

"Good," she said.

Sam stood up to leave. She stopped him, saying, "You are a good partner, Sam Hanna."

"Thank you," he said, nodding at her as he left her office.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam left G alone that night, mostly because G ducked him and slipped away before he could talk to him. G needed time to wrap his head around the details of what Hetty had told him- Sam was pretty sure G hadn't given him much more than the bare bones the night before- and he was perfectly willing to give G some space to think.

But the next night, he grabbed his bag and nudged G towards the car. "Let's get dinner," he suggested.

G sighed. "Yeah, ok."

They drove out to the Santa Monica Pier, got some food and went to sit on the beach. G ate his fish taco absently, squinting out at the water. "You talked to Hetty."

"I did, yes," Sam said.

"You _yelled_ at Hetty," G said, sounding a bit incredulous.

"I did," Sam admitted. "Did she tell you that?"

"Not exactly," G said. "Not in those words." He was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Why did you do that?"

"Because you weren't going to," Sam replied. "And someone had to."

G frowned over at Sam. "I don't understand."

"Someone had to tell her that she'd hurt you," Sam explained. "You wouldn't have done it, so I did it."

"It didn't matter," G said. "She tried to find me a place but it just didn't work out."

"That may be the case," Sam said, "but she had information about you for a very long time and she let you walk right into a situation that hurt you a lot, and that wasn't right of her."

"I'm ok," G tried to protest.

"No, G," Sam said, trying to be patient. "You have not been ok. You've been in a hell of a lot of pain all summer. Hell, the other night you were downright _bleeding_. And I know you, I know you were just going to let it roll off of you like it didn't happen. But it did happen, and because you can't stand up for yourself like that, I did it for you, because that's part of what I do."

G had shifted so he could bring his knees up to his chest and curl over them as Sam talked. He shook his head once, hard. It was less of an argument with what Sam was saying and more of a denial that he was hearing it, that it was happening. Sam could see fight-or-flight written all over G's face and he held up his hands. "It's all right. It's enough. I'll stop," he said. "You don't have to talk about this. All you need to know is that I did what I needed to do to have your back, all right?"

G hesitated, but then he nodded. "Ok," he said, quietly.

"Ok," Sam said. He finished his taco as G let his head drop to his knees. Sam waited a moment, and was about to say something, when G suddenly exhaled and let his legs drop flat and leaned back on his elbows, relaxed. "You all right?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," G said. "Yeah, I think I am." He leaned his head back and looked up at the sunset. "I think I'm glad summer's over."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that this story might seem a little out of character and melodramatic. But after thinking about it for awhile, I decided that when your world is crashing down around your ears, then yeah, you might be a little out of character. Feedback would be greatly adored!


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